Last weekend I went to New Hampshire with my 1957 Plus Four (which
I've had for 1 1/2 years) and my bride of thirty years as of July 8
and drove in a set of sprint races at the Loudon International Motor
Speedway. Racing with fellow VSCCA members and our more serious and
competitive cousins in the SVRA, I didn't do terribly well from a
competitive point of view. I lapped the track at a very consistent
1:54. (Under 50 mph for a course where the longest straight appears to
be about 1/2 mile or less in length.) Racing with the over two liter
cars,
I started at the back of the pack and was still passed --- sometimes
twice --- by a range of cars from 60's Daimlers to 50's XK150's more
or less at will. Later, mercifully moved down to the under two liter
crowd with my 1991 cc's and still starting at the back of the pack, I
kept up with the assorted Alfa Guiliettas, Ginettas, what have you,
until lap two, when the way was blocked by a sick car.
The rest of the field didn't show up again until close to the end of a
10 or 12 lap race, so I had the track to myself, still turning 1:54s,
according to my faithful timekeeper. Eventually I was lapped by the
leaders, including an indecently fast Sprite and probably remained in
last place, excluding the DNFs, two Alfas and a Turner.
Despite what was a dismal performance by most standards, I was just
about as content as a human being can be. Think about it and see if
you don't agree: After thirty-two years of wanting to drive cars like
this on circuits like the Loudon circuit, I finally got my wish and
was actually driving in my second set of races.
My wife, who has been accompanying me to car races for 32 years and
who very likely would have preferred to be cruising the antique stores
and discount malls that now litter my home state, cheerfully took my
times, brought me water, and put up with my manic obsession with
things automotive. (That alone is enough to do it for me.)
The weather was warm and dry, and New Hampshire in late June is
perfection. The Morgan ran nearly perfectly, dropping pints of oil
after every race but not overheating, not blowing coolant out and
reaching an indicated 78 mph at the end of the short straight.
Occasionally the gearbox would fall out of second gear, surely a
harbinger of Tales of Woe to come. The new Michelins performed very
well, oceans better than the old Avon H.M. Tourist cross-plies. Only a
slight vibration at a very particular speed.
I understand that all of this joy comes at an eventual price and that
the contentment is ephemeral. That Moss gearbox will need new
bearings or (Heaven forbid) another gearset. The (original) engine
with its flexible crankshaft will one day give up the ghost. The rear
axle will, sooner or later, pack it in or fly apart. People who
rebuild these machines and then take them out on the race track and
drive them hard are surely and knowingly accelerating the time to the
next rebuild and almost certainly raising the odds that something
irreplaceable will break. The only way that this can be forestalled is
to park the car.
However, there is this: at the end of the straight when you double
clutch down from fourth to third and then to second, stand on the
brakes, then turn the wheel and dive into the corner, you know the car
is almost alive and doing what it was meant to do. If done right
there are no protests from the gearbox and the car responds as it was
designed to respond, hurrying on to the next corner or the upshift.
You are comforted by the knowledge that almost anything can happen to
the car short of the complete devastation of a wreck and the odds are
very high that the car can be put right again to roll another day.
Furthermore, this rebirth can be undertaken by ordinary people using
nearly reasonable amounts of money. This is all by design because the
car is a Morgan and Morgan owners, with some help from Peter and
Charles, have conspired to keep the marque alive. Bentleys and Jag D
types can also be rebuilt, but at blinding expense which must be cold
comfort indeed.
P.S.: There was one other four-wheel Morgan in New Hampshire,
reportedly owned by one D. Brownell from Vermont, but it was up on a
trailer, covered up. Don't know where the owner was, but he or she
wasn't having as much fun as I was! There was a nifty green trike from
the late 30's (??) with yellow wheels, too, but I also didn't meet the
owner.
Regards to All-
Chip Brown
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